“I’ll do this with you or without you,” Micah said. “I’ll get into bed with the bloody copperheads, too, if that’s what it takes.” He paused. “They have a wizard of their own, thanks to you.” Micah squared his shoulders and met his father’s frigid gaze, those eyes that had withered him so often in the past.

Lord Bayar looked away first. He strode to the sideboard and splashed three fingers of brandy into a glass. He turned back to face Micah, a hint of grudging admiration in his eyes.

“Very well, then. You’ve made your point. But I will not risk our limited gifted assets, as you call them, to break the siege on Fellsmarch castle without a commitment from the queen.”

“Father,” Fiona began heatedly, “don’t listen to him. This is just another—”

“Shut up, Fiona.” Lord Bayar shot a warning look at her and returned to the table. “All right, Micah,” he said. “Let’s see how persuasive you can be. Go down to the capital. Tell the queen that she must return with you to Gray Lady and marry you if she wants to save her skin. We will establish a court here and use all of our resources to drive the southerners and their allies from the Fells.”

“And if she refuses?”

“Then she’s on her own.” His father’s eyes glittered. “But I’m sure you won’t let that happen.”

Micah eyed his father warily. “Where is the armory? I’ll need some kind of proof if I’m going to convince the queen.”

“You’ll see it when you return. If you return. You’d best be on your way if you want to beat the southern army. Assuming your personal charm won’t win the day, take the Crimson Crown with you as proof.” He paused and tacked on a mocking smile. “We’ll tell your lady mother to prepare for a wedding. The woman needs something to do.”

The conversation was over, Micah could tell. He stood, unsettled by this turn of events. His father and Fiona had teamed up in his absence. Could he trust his father to keep his promise?

He really had no choice. Once the Ardenines established a cordon with their mages, it would be doubly difficult to spirit Raisa away.

Resolve hardened within him. His father would keep his promise, one way or another. Micah tucked the Crimson Crown into his carry bag, still looking for a better hand to play. Clearly, his father wasn’t going to show him the armory. Might there be a way to find it on his own? Not that it would do him any good, by himself, but…“What about Alister?” Micah asked casually, drawing his riding gloves back on. “Is he still downstairs?”